


Mainline

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Upheave [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
Genre: Anal Plug, Angst, F/F, Female Armitage Hux, Female Ejaculation, Female Kylo Ren, Identity, Light Bondage, Manipulation, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Submissive Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26120476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Kylo can feel her, standing far too close. She can feel Hux’s breath on her face. She can feel the heat of her body. She can smell the stale cigarette clinging to her hair and the sweat on her throat. She can feel Hux, too, in the air -- in the Force, in the wavering of the dust motes floating down from the aircon -- but she won’t say that. It disturbs Hux to know it, to have it spoken aloud.“You’ve never been a good judge of enough, though, have you, Supreme Leader?”
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Upheave [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896583
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Mainline

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes just a little bit more moody than the last. Enjoy.

Kylo shivers, her body rebelling in the downswing of adrenaline and nerves. Her arms are tired. There is just enough slack in the line that keeps them hoisted above her head that she can roll her shoulders, first one and then then other. She can stretch her fingers and hold onto the line. It gives her something to focus on.

She cringes, a drop of liquid rolling lazily down the inside of her thigh. The last time this happened, release hitting her like a batha charging at full-speed, Hux had scoffed at the notion of some housekeeper -- droid or organic -- cleaning the mess. Kylo’s stomach clenches at the memory of the hard floor against her knees as she ran her tongue through the little puddle, Hux’s hand in her hair keeping her low.

The involuntary movement of muscle brings Kylo’s attention to the persistent, full feeling of her gut. She wonders how long she’ll be left here to suffer, to contemplate the limits of her body with the heavy, weighted plug in her hole. No amount of squeezing and tilting and tipping grants escape from the  _ presence _ of the thing. Frustrated, caught between the agony of cold absence in her post-orgasm haze and the creeping boredom of being left alone with only passive stimulation, Kylo stomps her foot just to hear the bar and the ring that mounts it to her ankle clatter. She closes her eyes and sighs, resting her chin against her chest.

Patience had never been a strong suit for Kylo Ren.

“Chancellor,” she sing-songs at the sound of boots against the polished floor. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Have you?” 

Kylo can feel her, standing far too close. She can feel Hux’s breath on her face. She can feel the heat of her body. She can smell the stale cigarette clinging to her hair and the sweat on her throat. She can  _ feel _ Hux, too, in the air -- in the Force, in the wavering of the dust motes floating down from the aircon -- but she won’t say that. It disturbs Hux to know it, to have it spoken aloud.

“You’ve never been a good judge of  _ enough _ , though, have you, Supreme Leader?”

Hux spits into her hand and presses herself bodily to Kylo, insinuating her wet fingers between Kylo’s legs. Hux grabs at her clit, pinching it gently between her knuckles and tugging. Kylo presses her lips together and moans, her leg shaking with urgency. It  _ hurts _ after enduring so much and coming so hard. Hux rests her cheek beside Kylo’s and pushes her fingers further, sinking them inside of her and curling them,  _ come hither _ .

“No,  _ no _ \--  _ nonono no _ ,” Kylo mumbles, trying to tip her hips away. It’s too much. She’s too  _ full _ . She’s not sure whether it’s her imagination or not, feeling Hux’s knuckles stroke against the plug through the thin wall of her flesh.

“You’re right,” Hux agrees. “Enough for now.” She lets her weight rest against Kylo, taking up the slack in the line with it. “Time to let your arms down anyway.” It’s a relief when she slides her fingers out of Kylo’s poor, used cunt. They dance teasingly backward. “Time to get rid of this too, hmm?”

“Please,” Kylo croaks. “Please.”

Hux works her fingertips behind the base of the plug, sitting so perfectly flush against Kylo’s cleft, and the pressure makes Kylo’s mind erupt in static. “Relax,” Hux commands quietly, demanding the impossible. “Breathe out slowly.”

There is only sensation.

There is the accidental scratch and pinch of Hux’s nails, struggling for just a moment with the awkward stretch of her wrist between Kylo’s legs. There is the heat as muscles stretch and resist, all in confusion. There is the solid gravity of the plug and the spark of astonishment that her body accommodates it.

There is the bereft emptiness when the task is complete. For just a moment, the lunatic notion of begging to be filled again flits across the data screen surface inside of Kylo’s skull and she struggles not to laugh.

Kylo cringes at how her hole gapes and contracts, at the too-thick lubricant she knows is inside of her. The heavy toy, resting against her hip where Hux’s hand is draped, is warm and it disgusts her.  _ Such a good girl _ , Hux whispers against the side of her face; and the static flows into its rhythm.

“My legs, now,” Kylo says with some measure of confidence, affecting the tone she uses in front of her Council.

“Of course, Supreme Leader.” Hux is kind, accommodating. She releases Kylo’s ankles and fetches the stool for her to lean back against while her arms are lowered -- slowly, gently -- pausing when Kylo hisses at the twinges in her overused shoulders. The floor is still wet and Kylo casts her gaze downward while Hux rubs near-painful circles into her back. “I’ll send for a housekeeping droid,” she murmurs and when she thinks that Kylo might be steady on her feet, she leaves.

In her private chambers, Kylo sheds her awkward redressing. She leaves the miscellaneous pieces of her coverings -- the tunic and the trousers and the sweeping half skirt and the cape and the soft indoor shoes -- in a trail on the floor as she moves on the memory of muscles and the navigation of the deepest recesses of her primordial brain into the disgustingly lavish bathing room. Kylo hates the residential suites in the fortified compound that she claimed as her own. They remind her so much of the rooms she grew up in -- the ostentatiousness of the wealthy Republic. She longs for the stark comfort of her rooms on the Finalizer, where everything is stripped back to the bare essentials.

In the shower -- wide enough for three and open to the room -- Kylo cleans herself perfunctorily. She scours her body with a sea sponge and nondescript soap until her skin is flushed and pink and abraded. Her hair squeaks with cleanliness, oils stripped and scalp scrubbed hard. It’ll be dirty again in a day, unable to keep her hands out of it for long for want of something to do with them.

When all else is finished, Kylo leans into the too-hot spray and braces herself against the cool tile beyond it. She sucks in air, her shoulder rebelling against her while she reaches back -- shoving her fingers inside herself and twisting them until she feels no more slippery lubricant. Her chin quivers and she curls her fist against the wall, filled with emptiness.

She dries herself in front of the mirror, half hazy with steam, and observes herself as if her body is not her own. It is the only way she can really  _ look _ . It is the only way that her hands don’t shake while she touches the travesty of scars that twist her torso -- her throat -- her shoulder and chest. After the marathon of microsurgeries to install synthetic tissues in her face she could endure no more to amend the rest. And why? Surely not for anyone else.

Kylo turns away from the mirror to drag a brush though wet hair, to twist it on the back of her head and shove a pin through the mass of it.

She is already in bed when Hux comes, sprawled out to take up as much space as she can. Hux slides in beside her, stripped down to the undershirt and drab shorts that she has been wearing all day. She smells it -- stale and salty with a fresh punch of tobacco that makes Kylo’s eyes burn for just a moment. Kylo stares up at the ceiling, studying the ugly gilding. She can feel the heat of Hux’s limbs draped over her through her clothes -- covered ankle to throat in soft, thick black wool.

Kylo feels herself drift, eyes getting heavy.

The day has been so long. The endless meetings and audiences and requests for orders. The digital communique. The bleak stretch of time trussed up to the ceiling -- forced to look at herself, to be inside of this fragile vessel, trapped. She’d nearly forgotten the encrypted call she’d been scheduled to make, just barely making the drop time to catch her contact on Arkanis -- struggling into her shirt with one hand and logging into the private holostation there in her chambers with the other.

Hux’s hand on her stomach is a shot of caffeine, calloused palm shoved up under her shirt. It feels more invasive than any touch she’s ever allowed in other circumstances. It’s an effort not to flinch away but she allows it, closing her eyes and counting breaths while Hux strokes her skin, what little of it remains unmarred by plasma fire. She’s less careful when Kylo’s arms are stretched high.

Kylo watches Hux in the low light and wonders what took her so long to come to bed? She hopes her contact is mistaken. Credit trails can be misconstrued. 

Kylo huffs in displeasure, shirt hiked up awkwardly across her chest. Amused, Hux isn’t detracted from her course, rubbing feather-light circles against a nipple and watching it get hard. Kylo shifts, rolling onto her side and stopping Hux’s progress. She lowers her forehead against Hux’s and waits -- she’ll be kissed, sooner or later. She won’t ask for it. She won’t initiate it. She can be patient until Hux relents and complies with the silent demand.

Hux seals her mouth against Kylo’s, more bite than kiss. It’s satisfying enough and Kylo allows Hux to hook a slender leg around her waist. She swings her body upright, settling comfortably astride Kylo’s waist. She looks down with an open mouth, tipping her head to peer down the length of her nose with a haughty squint. “I was on a call with our person on Alsakan,” she murmurs.

“And?” Kylo pulls at her under shirt, yanking at it and thinking of how much more satisfying it would be if her fingers broke through the knit. Hux sighs and pulls it off, casting it aside.

“They’re in place to move on Pryde’s people, should she decide not to cooperate.”

“Good,” Kylo says. She tries to feign interest but she really doesn’t care. Pryde is the thorn in Hux’s side, not her own. The old woman has no real leverage and her advice is sound more often than not. 

Her hands look so rough-hewn against Hux’s body. 

She half listens to her Chancellor babble, filing what she needs and immediately forgetting what she doesn’t. It was Pryde who suggested she might find eyes on Arkanis.

Hux’s tits fit so nicely against her palms. A handful, a mouthful. Peaked upward in the same peachy flush as all her lips, lovely with their delicate little silver bearings. Kylo pinches one, and watches Hux’s face while she turns the piece of jewelry in its seat. 

Hux stutters and stops, the blaster-bolt course of her thoughts interrupted. Her eyes flutter closed and she smiles. With her other hand, Kylo presses -- planting the pad of her thumb against tempting flesh until she feels the bar beneath resist. Hux nods and mumbles assent -- _ yes -- like that _ \-- unconscious of how her hips twitch or the way her nails bite against Kylo’s chest.

Kylo hesitates for just a second before she curls her fingers against Hux’s skin and  _ flicks _ as hard as she can.

Hux yelps and jerks away and something buried deep in Kylo’s guts twists with warmth. “You --  _ fuck! _ ” Hux curls in on herself, glaring down at Kylo. Her jaw works over words she can’t put together.

“Why do you do it? It’s always the same,” Kylo asks abruptly.

“ _ What _ ?”

“My arms.” Hux purses her lips, a low growl caught behind them. “I’m waiting, Chancellor.”

Hux sucks in air like she’s been drowning before she answers. “Because your hands are dangerous.” Kylo’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “I’ve seen what you do with them -- I’ve felt it.”

Realization dawns on Kylo. “You’re afraid.”

“Of course not.”

“What then?” Kylo curls her lip and pushes her shirt down, the soft wool a shield from Hux’s angry scrutiny. “You know my hands aren’t necessary.” She cranes her neck upward and lets her palms rest against Hux’s knees. “All I have to do is think it.”

Kylo’s heart hammers in her chest and her hands feel cold.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Hux croons, straightening her spine and pushing her chest forward like she’s observing a legion of troopers. She is resplendent in her naked confidence. “But, Supreme Leader, you won’t.”

_ Because you’re a good girl,  _ Hux thinks. Kylo pretends not to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> I super love comments.
> 
> [Find me here.](https://aryagreenleaf.carrd.co/)


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